


Cake Crumbs And Bed Sheets

by Jenwryn



Category: Death Note
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-26
Updated: 2009-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:49:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An inexplicable and very fluffy AU, written for Australia Day. In which L eats lamingtons and vanilla slice - and has help to fall asleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cake Crumbs And Bed Sheets

**Author's Note:**

> Plus a tiny dash of Matt/Mello. ♥

> Your warm whispers  
> Out of the dark they carry my heart  
> Your warm whispers  
> Into the dawn they carry me through...
> 
> ~ Missy Higgins, “Warm Whispers”

  
The sun had already begun to set when Light Yagami entered the hotel room and shut the door quietly behind him. He bent to untie his shoes, took them off, straightened them into a line against the wall beside the door, and then paused, half way through the motion of standing up again, to stare at the other man already inside the room. L was seated in the middle of the unmade hotel bed, roughly where he had been when Light had left him, very early in the morning, only the fact that he was now dressed even indicating that he had moved at all in the hours since then. There were two laptops and a cellphone half hidden amongst the pillows piled up around him, and he had an open cardboard box cradled in his lap. His panda-eyes were half closed and his expression was lost somewhere in the pleasant limbo between intensity and ecstasy.

Light finished standing up, and his own eyes narrowed. “I thought,” he said in a low, warning tone, “that we had agreed there would be no cake in bed, L.”

The dark-haired man seemed startled to hear Light's voice; Light positively stared at his reaction (_dark crumbs, and specks of coconut, flying everywhere as L's eyes snapped wide open and darted towards the door_). Under normal circumstances it was virtually impossible to sneak up on the detective without him being aware of you trying to do it, huh. Light blinked rapidly and his anger, at the blatant disregard of one of the few rules he'd ever laid down in their relationship (no cake in bed, no licking my face in public and, if you want to know something, just ask, don't snoop dammit, because it drives me crazy), slid from annoyed to concerned. Could, uh, the food be drugged or something?

Undoing his tie, Light headed towards the cake-eating detective, placing both his tie and his jacket over the back of a chair near the end of the bed, en route. One of L's white t-shirts lay crumpled on the floor nearby, and Light scooped that up too, with a resigned look on his face. He folded it once, then dropped it neatly onto the seat of the chair.

“Is _good_,” mumbled L enthusiastically, his mouth full, and he made a vague gesture with his free hand, a gesture which seemed to somehow encompass the boxful on his lap, the bite-sized piece of cake left in his hands, and his hamster-full cheeks, all at once.

Light wanted to ask where the box had come from, then decided that his tone of voice would speak volumes of his disapproval, and the last thing he wanted was to get into an argument at this time of night, particularly not after the day he'd just had. Instead, with a weary sigh, he simply sat down on the bed near his sweet-toothed other half, and contentedly himself with raising his eyebrows as an acknowledgement that he'd heard what L had said. Light didn't fail to notice the way that L instinctively shifted the box just out of his reach, and he raised his eyebrows a little further in response. L flushed apologetically, as he realised what he'd done, and moved it grudgingly back.

So... not drugged, then, if he were attempting to be considerate of Light's feelings?

Hmmm. Light leant in so close that L's unruly hair brushed against the side of his own face, and looked into the carton. Square chocolate-coloured sponge cakes covered in coconut (sisters to the mouthful which L was now chewing contently), dark pieces of rich mudcake, honey-coloured ANZAC biscuits the size of tea saucers, light slips of passionfruit slice, voluptuous puffs of pavlova that dusted white against his fingertips as he touched at them, white-and-chocolate covered neenish tarts, heavy-weighted pumpkin scones, wobbly rectangles of vanilla layered with thick egg custard, and a little bag of neatly-round macadamia nuts; everything was separated by breath-thin tissue paper, and labelled with papery twine and little tags, which was the only reason that Light, who was hardly a connoisseur of sweet things, could even tell what they all were.

“There were Tim Tams, too, Black Forest Fantasy ones,” mumbled L as he ate, and gestured towards an empty biscuit packet that had been half-squished beneath his laptop. “But I already ate them.”

Light's lips danced into a smile, despite himself.

“Mello?” he guessed, after a moment's pause, having suddenly realised that the handwriting on the labels seemed vaguely familiar and, moreover, his brain having made the connection between the word _ANZAC_ on the biscuits, and Australia – he knew that the blond boy and his not-a-boyfriend-but-totally-seen-making-out had been sent there, on a case, by their sugar-addicted mentor.

  
“Mmm,” agreed L in an extremely satisfied voice. “He and Matt arrived back in England about an hour ago.”

For the space of a mere fifteen seconds or so, Light considered asking how it was that Mello had managed to bring cake and cookies back from a country supposedly more than twenty-four hours of flight away, and yet still have them fresh on arrival... but then decided that he probably didn't want to know after all. It was, really, as a general rule, better not to ask when it came to L's protégés and their methods, in particular when the protégé under discussion was Mello.

Light shook his head to himself, then raised his hand from where it had been resting, on the edge of the box, to brush a strand of hair, finely laced with crumbs, away from L's face. “You do know that you just lost all reason for me not to be extremely cranky at you for crumbing up our bed, right?”

L looked slightly guilty, though who knew if he genuinely felt it, or whether it was a reaction of his naturally sharp sense of self-preservation kicking in. He'd had his hand hovering over a piece of passionfruit slice but, at Light's words, he extricated it from the box, and touched warm fingers against Light's face instead. “Uh,” he said, and blinked rapidly, as though trying to think something up, which was indubitably all for show, seeing as, even under the influence of extreme cake over-dose, L always knew exactly what he wanted to say. “Mello brought them in when I was working and...”

“And you just never made it off of the bed, you were so overwhelmed by the sheer cake-ness of it all?” Light finished for him with a wry smile.

Truth or not, it was, at least, the kind of excuse he was more than willing to buy, at least when it came to the dark-haired man seated before him. L lived on a whole different plane of plausibility to regular people, after all.

“You're going to make yourself sick,” the Japanese detective continued, in a disturbingly good impersonation of his own mother, even if he knew that (a), it probably wasn't true, since L could consume a terrifying quantity of baked goods before he actually felt the worse for it and, (b), he was wasting his breath either way. His smile grew a little wider. “Anyway, you should save some for tomorrow, don't you think, rather than just eating it all in one go? Not to mention that you'll be awake all night if you finish all that, and you promised to go with me to follow the newest lead in person; even you need sleep, despite common beliefs to the contrary,if we're going to be up and about before dawn...”

L looked thoughtful, selected a vanilla slice anyway, nibbled off one of its corners, and then nodded. “Alright.”

He sealed the box back up, slid off the bed, and vanished into the tiny kitchenette, presumably to put the cakes in the refrigerator. Light rolled his eyes and lay back amongst the pillows, wondering why it was that he sometimes felt he was living with someone with a four-year-old's mentality, and moreover, why it didn't bother him anywhere near as much as it ought to. He didn't realise he'd drifted off to sleep (there really weren't enough hours in the day, in his defence, and his were nevertheless too long as it was) until he was woken by the soft brush of hands at his shirt buttons.

He opened his eyes again, and found L hovering over him.

“Light-kun is correct,” the man conceded magnanimously, as he worked his way swiftly along the row of buttons. He smiled as Light sleepily sat up just enough to take the shirt right off him. “Would he be willing to help me to sleep deeply, so that we can leave early in the morning...?” L's voice was deep, and his hands rested warm, and surprisingly heavy, against Light's bare chest.

Light made a tiny huffing noise, as if he had no intention of doing any such thing, but, nevertheless, his hands reached up and joined company against L's neck, nestling between his hair and his t-shirt collar, and pulling him in gently closer. “I'm sure Light will be more than helpful, if L promises to eat the rest of the cake at the kitchen table.”

_...L's answer is lost somewhere in the middle of a kiss; his mouth tastes of chocolate and coconut, and his hands, when Light sucks them into his mouth one by one, and curls his tongue around them, taste of vanilla. It's a strange sensation, for someone who doesn't even like confectioneries, to realise, time after time after time, time after all this time, that it's the most delicious thing ever, when it's connected with L's skin and L's tongue, and the flavour, beneath it all, of L himself. The sugar slides from his blood to Light's, somehow, as if their shared need spreads below the surface and into their very veins; Light doesn't even know. L's body is warm over his, warm and possessive and strong and tender, all at once, rough and gentle, mixed together, all at once, all together. That mouth of his does things that are illegal in a several countries, and it pushes Light to the edge of his mind, makes him writhe until the two of them are nothing but cake crumbs and trembling sweetness, and the saccharine thought of it alone should make his very teeth ache, but it doesn't, it doesn't, because this is L and this is him and this is them, and it's right, right, right, right the way it always is, until there's nothing left but gasping breaths and heaving chests and bodies that clench together and shake into climax..._

Afterwards – and it was one of the not-so-minor miracles of life itself that there always _was_ an afterwards – Light lay in the muddle of sheets and cake crumbs, fighting his lungs to make them breathe normally, and enjoyed the weight of L's body draped partly across his, their skin too-warm to the touch where it was joined. He stroked L's hair without even knowing he was doing it, his fingers rubbing small circles and smoothing out knots.

“I'm sorry about the cake,” the detective mumbled, half-asleep, his voice muffled against Light's shoulder.

“It doesn't matter,” Light shushed, and realised quietly that it wasn't even a lie.

“But I _am_ sorry,” came the sleepy voice again, slightly protesting now, and L raised his head to gaze at Light with painfully sincere eyes, as if genuine apologies tore away the curtain that separated his soul from the universe.

Light stroked his temple and eased him back towards sleepiness, rubbing one his hands up and down his backbone in a reassuring way. “Sssh,” he whispered. “I know. And... I love you too.”

The detective's head grew heavy, and his eyes slipped shut, and his response was lost completely to Light's skin, but the younger man didn't have to have heard it to know what had been said. And, as L's breathing grew steady, his breath warm on Light's shoulder, Light closed his own eyes, and fell asleep himself.

Even the biscuit crumbs pressing at his right hip couldn't bother him tonight.


End file.
